


Road Rage

by avalonroses



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Chemistry, M/M, Parking Wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23690089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avalonroses/pseuds/avalonroses
Summary: 'Dear Arsehole,If you would kindly stop leaving your car in what is clearly not your space, I might reconsider asking the landlord to have your car towed into the nearest river—which is where this piece of garbage belongs.Yours indignantly,3C'In which Arthur has a dispute with an idiot who keeps parking in his space.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 89





	Road Rage

Arthur, by nature, was a creature of habit.

His day-to-day routine ticked over like the gears and cogs of well-oiled clockwork.

He arrived at work for 8:30AM, sharp, he always spared time for a tea break, accompanied by chocolate-coated biscuits or fairy cakes more often than not, he fed and petted his irritable cat—little bugger that he was—upon returning home in the evening and he whittled away the remainder of the night watching clichéd rom-coms or reading the works of whichever esteemed English novelist took his fancy at the time.

Not the most thrilling of lifestyles but, for the most part, Arthur was content.

Having such a modest, orderly existence did mean that the smallest of inconsistencies caused quite the upheaval—no different to a pebble disrupting an undisturbed pool of water—and when the Englishman found himself sat in his car, stationary though the engine was humming, looking at _his_ parking space that had been filled with a car that _wasn’t_ his, Arthur was nothing short of flummoxed.

It took him a few minutes to realise that stopping in the middle of the road and staring at a car that wasn’t his like a _complete nutter_ wasn’t going to solve anything. Fortunately for Arthur, there was no one around to witness his strange behaviour and he managed to find somewhere to park only two spaces along from his usual slot.

Perhaps Arthur was acting on instinct when he marched directly to the parking space thief’s car and went about his investigation, eyes narrowed with disapproval.

Arthur was gifted with the ability to spot an idiot a mile away—not that it was a particularly difficult task, idiots were bloody _everywhere,_ it was a wonder the human race had lasted as long as it had—and as he observed the great, hulking SUV before him, emblazoned with a bumper sticker that read ‘ _Made in the USA’,_ alongside an absurdly detailed image of a bald eagle, and an interior that was littered with wrappers of greasy fast food, as Arthur could see through the window, he knew he was dealing with a specific type of idiot.

An American one.

Perfect. _Bloody perfect._

Whoever this idiot was, he, and Arthur was assuming it was a he, had either failed to see the spaces allotted to guests only or he was a resident who had happened to miss to signs over each space, clearly stating the floor level and apartment number of whom they belonged to—Arthur’s being 3C.

Well, Arthur thought as he marched toward his apartment, as long as the tosser was gone by tomorrow, he would let the incident slide.

The obnoxious car was nowhere in sight the next morning and Arthur went off to work with one less thing to be cross about. It wasn’t until his shift had ended and Arthur pulled into the car park—his temper already blackened after some lunatic decided to go ahead and charge through a red light, almost crashing into Arthur—did he find himself in the same position as yesterday.

Sitting behind the wheel, his eyes trained to the SUV in his space with a glare so acidic it was a wonder it didn’t dissolve holes in the metal frame of the car.

He parked, almost clipping a lamppost with his reckless, anger-riddled driving, and rummaged through his briefcase for a scrap piece of paper and a pen. What Arthur found was a discarded ‘to-do list’ and an old ink cartridge but he was too furious to notice. He would have _scored_ a message into the SUV’s paintwork with his fingernails if need be.

Once he was satisfied with his work, Arthur marched, yet again, to the SUV and tucked the note under the windscreen wiper, certain that the owner couldn’t miss it there.

_Dear Arsehole,_

_If you would kindly_ stop _leaving your car in what is clearly_ not _your space, I might reconsider asking the landlord to have your car towed into the nearest river—which is where this piece of garbage belongs._

_Yours indignantly,  
3C_

There. That ought to do it.

The landlord perhaps wouldn’t be too compliant in towing someone’s car into a river, but Arthur would cross that bridge when he came to it.

The next day followed much a similar pattern in that, by morning, the SUV had disappeared but when Arthur arrived home from work, low and behold, that _bloody fucking car_ was back. If it were possible for humans to spontaneously burst into a raging inferno from sheer fury, Arthur would have been a pile of smouldering ashes.

Infuriatingly, the note wasn’t there. Either the SUV owner had read it and tossed it aside or the prat hadn’t noticed and it had been swept away by the forces of the weather. According to Arthur’s judgements about the owner, the Englishman thought the former seemed more likely.

Looked like a visit to his landlord was in order and if that encounter proved fruitless, well, _fuck it,_ Arthur had always considered himself above vandalism but with this American—whoever he was—Arthur was sure he could dismantle the car with his bare hands.

As he made his way back into the apartment building, knuckles bone-white with his clenched fists, Arthur bumped into a tall, young man. The man made an unintelligible sound of surprise, prompting Arthur’s distressed temper to flare and he turned to the man with a scowl that sliced through any expectations of apologies.

“If you weren’t dawdling in the entranceway, maybe people wouldn’t walk into you, idiot.”

He was handsome in that athletic, flawless way that indicated him as being entirely out of Arthur’s league. All blond hair and blue eyes and tight t-shirts and charming smiles. And heterosexual, undoubtedly.

Arthur barged past the man, the fact that his mind had captured the stranger’s face in devastating, luminous detail only setting alight his flammable anger.

Of course his memory recalled attractive, unattainable men with exceptional ease but when it came to birthdays or paying rent on time, his memory suddenly wasn’t functional anymore.

Friday morning swooped by and Arthur stepped into the car park, feeling as though he was a disturbed carbonated drink on the verge of exploding. His landlord hadn’t answered after Arthur’s many attempts to call him and to make matters worse, the SUV wasn’t absent, sitting smugly in his parking spot as Arthur walked to his car, parked directly _next_ to his rightful space.

Folded over his windscreen wiper was a piece of paper.

A piece of paper he recognised.

Arthur unfolded it.

_Dear angry 3c guy,_

_don’t be hatin, bro, you know my car is hot stuff. anyway, sorry about stealing your spot, I couldn’t be bothered looking for mine._

_for an angry guy, you’re pretty cute. wanna go on a date sometime? tonight maybe?_

_yours awesomely,  
‘arsehole’_

_p.s. thought you might want your to-do list back, there are a lot of dirty books ‘to read’ and I didn’t want you to lose the titles._

Arthur felt a clammy, sticky sweat chase up his spine and blot over his face as mortification flooded his system. He flipped over the paper, finding his to-do list which was comprised solely of: call his mother, do the weekly shop and purchase books with quite obviously homoerotic titles.

“Hey man, you okay over there? You look like you’re going to pass out,” someone commented, concern lining their voice.

Their distinctly American voice.

It was the young man that Arthur had collided into yesterday and had rudely admonished him for it.

This same young man was also holding open the door to the driver’s side of the SUV.

“ _You—”_ Arthur choked, seized by a hot, vicious wave of astonished _wrath. “You.”_

The man beamed, a glimpse of pure sunshine.

“Oh, hey, you got my note! Not a fan of my car, huh?”

Arthur was… stunned, speechless, devoid of anything other than the compelling urge to punch the man in the face with so much force that the stupidity, and, incidentally, _Americanness,_ flew right out of him.

At least, Arthur wished he could punch the man—and he would have if his mind hadn’t been _bleeding_ consumed by the realisation that the man’s note had mentioned _a date_.

“Listen, I won’t use your space again—I was being lazy, I guess. But I meant it about taking you out on a date. Whatdya say?” the man posed, and for all his previous cockiness, in that moment, he appeared overcome by endearing shyness.

“Absolutely not,” Arthur retorted with brutal conviction.

The man was attractive, yes, but Arthur would be damned thrice over before he agreed to go on a date with the imbecile.

But a _minuscule_ part of him—yes, _miniscule—_ danced excitedly at the thought of being wined and dined by the American.

Unsatisfyingly, the American didn’t appear to be discouraged, in fact, his smile grew with brightness.

“I thought you might say that.” The man faux-sighed. “Well, if you ever change your mind, the name’s Alfred and I’m in 4G. Oh, and I have a pretty awesome date planned too.”

Arthur arched a brow in challenge, arms crossing over his chest.

“I know this great place to eat that I think you’d like and after that, we could head to the bookstore!”

“The bookstore?" Arthur countered, tone derisive—because what kind of date included a bookstore, even if Arthur did love books.

“Yeah, I’m curious about those kinky books you like,” Alfred returned, eyes sheened with deviousness.

Not a week later, Arthur found himself in the bookstore, and with Alfred closely following, blushing vividly as he carried an armful of suggestively titled books.

Arthur may have surrendered to Alfred’s charm and agreed to a date—and perhaps a _tiny_ bit of snogging—but that didn’t mean he would miss an opportunity to get his revenge.

Alfred never parked in Arthur’s spot again.


End file.
